Turn an Hour
by Cedar
Summary: A dangerous turn of events takes Don's control of his career out of his hands.


**Turn an Hour**

_Crimes and Misnomers_

I always thought it was funny  
that it was called  
Daylight Savings Time  
because  
regardless of how many hours of light  
are in a day  
the thieves  
murderers  
arsonists  
scum of the earth  
will always take greatest advantage of  
the night.

_Like Clockwork_

The fugitive shows up.

I spring forward  
and there are shouts of   
"EPPES!"  
"NO!"  
"FUCK!"  
"GET DOWN!"  
"RUN!"  
there are gunshots  
in front of me  
behind me  
the air around me gets hot  
then the hot is piercing and pinpointed  
and  
I fall back.

_Luck be a Slight Wind to the Right Tonight_

Here is how they say I am lucky:  
It could have been an inch to my left.  
It could have been my spine.  
It could have hit an artery.  
It could have  
Should have  
Would have  
Luck was on my side.  
In the hospital I think  
of Charlie.  
I don't remember when we last spoke but  
I know if we did  
right now  
he'd tell me  
exactly how lucky I am  
only he wouldn't say "lucky"  
he'd say "statistically."  
Which is maybe why we  
don't talk anymore.

_All the World's a Stage of Grief_

I don't see Billy for two days  
but when I do  
he  
denies that this could happen  
is angry that he let me get shot  
tells me he's negotiating with our boss  
tries to hide his tight voice and fatigue and sadness.

I accept his feelings  
and move on.

_The Wanting is the Hardest Part_

The phone on my bedside table  
looks like it weighs  
five hundred pounds.  
I think about it  
picking it up  
calling home.  
There's no good way  
to say  
"Hey, Mom  
Dad.  
I'mfinehowareyou?  
The beeping?  
Just my heart monitor.  
I said I was fine.  
Just a bullet.  
Just."

I miss them.  
I miss  
California  
and all I left there  
to pursue pursuit.

The logical thing would  
be to tell Billy  
I want out  
back to California  
or a desk job  
back to an address that didn't start  
P.O. Box...  
to my dad's cooking  
a girlfriend.

as far as Billy is concerned he is  
my parents  
California  
my job  
my address  
my girlfriend  
(for want of a better description).

So here we are  
me in this bed  
him pacing in the hall  
getting thrown out for making too much noise  
wanting so much  
that we can't fulfill for each other  
despite our trying  
and our lies.

We want ridiculous things  
like stability and security and home-cooked meals  
focused sharp  
scarred by our jobs  
each of us pretending  
that we don't want  
not to want.

_Blanketed_

I've been in this room  
a hundred  
thousand  
times before.  
Mirror over the sink  
separate toilet and shower room.  
Until now I've been  
so conscious  
undress in the dark  
in the shower room.  
Now I've forgotten.  
A blizzard outside  
(welcome to Wisconsin  
in April)  
quiets the streets the sidewalks and  
Billy figures  
that fugitive's not going to get anywhere tonight  
unless it's a hospital.  
I think he's asleep so I  
strip to the waist  
take out my razor  
focus on my reflection  
wet  
lather  
"Oh my God."

I nick my jaw.

"I'm sorry." Eyes down.  
"Don't worry about it." Apply tissue to the wound.  
"I…I try to forget, y'know?" Turn away.  
"But you can't."  
"It's my fault."  
"No it isn't."  
"That scar didn't come from nowhere."  
"I knew" rinse shave  
"something like this could happen someday"  
rinse shave  
"and it's okay."  
"It's not okay for my partner to get shot."  
shake of his head  
vapor trail of cigarette smoke

He says it as though he  
is the one who shot me.

The sound of his voice  
is the bullet  
buried deep  
paralyzing burn  
knock me out for days.

As the snow  
and my thoughts  
drift  
I think  
no, I know  
that bullet damaged Billy  
much more than me.

_Virginia is for Gunshot Survivors_

"Quantico?"

It's Billy's voice.

"Yeah, maybe."

"Okay."

"I understand, sir."

"No. I'll do it."

He hangs up the phone.

I have to ask.

"You're going to Quantico?

Why?"

He opens his mouth  
but  
can't speak  
and  
I know

"_You're_ not going  
to Quantico.

You're sending _me_ there."

_He of Little Faith_

I confess  
I handle the news  
poorly.  
I  
throw things in my bag  
shout instead of talk  
hate him more than I've hated  
anyone (even that sophomore who beat up Charlie when he was ten)

THIS IS ALL ABOUT YOU.  
YOU FEEL SO GUILTY THAT I HAVE THIS  
(raising my shirt because  
I couldn't  
let him get away without  
facing  
my scar  
his failures)  
THAT YOU'RE SENDING ME  
TO QUANTICO  
AWAY FROM YOU  
LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN YOUR PARTNER  
(your mind  
your hands  
even your heart if you squint at it)  
FOR YEARS.

I'M NOT MEANT  
TO STAND IN FRONT OF A FUCKING CLASSROOM  
TEACHING   
NOT CATCHING FUGITIVES  
WHICH  
NEED I REMIND YOU  
I AM DAMN GOOD AT.

I AM MEANT...

i am meant  
to be  
outside  
running  
driving

waiting  
searching

with

you.

_Spring Forward_

and I have lost

my mother  
my girlfriend  
my job status  
my townhouse in New Mexico

but gained

my father  
my brother  
Terry Lake  
(maybe I should try a dating service)  
a new team  
some perspective.

When Billy shows up  
I can only

forgive him.

I know  
he did for me what I would do  
for my father  
for my brother  
for Terry  
for David:

protect them  
only not too much.

Then  
he offers Fugitive Recovery.

I like familiarity.

nights spent in cars  
surviving on coffee and cigarettes  
reclaiming Billy as  
my mind  
my hands  
even my heart, no squinting needed

Then

I feel the weight  
of my keys in my pocket  
of the knowledge that Charlie led us to this fugitive  
of the shadow of the Los Angeles office over me  
of my dad and the house and my mom's ghost.

The scar on my back tingles  
like it recognizes Billy.

I say no.

He asks  
if I'm sure.

How can I ever be sure?

But I say yes  
yes I'm sure  
yes I want to stay yes

I have sprung too far forward  
to allow myself  
to fall so far back.

---  
end


End file.
